


a gentle touch, a foolish love

by silverfoxflower



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Sex, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: It wasn’t even the worst of Jaskier’s habits, but. It was the one that Geralt could perhaps do something about.(Of course, he’d noticed Jaskier’s lingering attention, his fluttering pulse when Geralt stood near. He’d noticed the heated glances he shot Geralt when he thought he wasn’t watching, and his nervous restlessness when they were forced to share an inn bed.)If Jaskier simply needed a warm body to vent his frustrations upon, well. It might as well be Geralt’s.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 453





	a gentle touch, a foolish love

Geralt, as well as anyone, understood sexual urges. But Jaskier was taking it to ridiculous lengths.

Anytime an acceptably attractive person even so much as looked in his direction, he sprinted to dance attendance, willfully blind to the inconvenience and aggravation he caused Geralt.

_Find us an inn_ , Geralt would order, and when he returned to town, hurting and sore and practically dead on his feet, there was a not insubstantial probability that Jaskier would have forgotten about him completely in favor of warming the barmaid’s bed.

(”I got us a room, didn’t I? You didn’t say anything about forbidding me from using it!”)

This was not even mentioning the cuckoldry. The public indecency. The gathering horde of dangerous, disgruntled people out for Jaskier’s throat for allegedly deflowering/impregnating/betraying their sibling/spouse/chaste handmaiden of Melitele. Geralt rued the day that they would think to organize themselves. As it was, there was a not insubstantial number of villages Jaskier, and by extension Geralt, could Never Step Foot In Again.

It wasn’t even the worst of Jaskier’s habits, but. It was the one that Geralt could perhaps do something about.

(Of course, he’d noticed Jaskier’s lingering attention, his fluttering pulse when Geralt stood near. He’d noticed the heated glances he shot Geralt when he thought he wasn’t watching, and his nervous restlessness when they were forced to share an inn bed.)

If Jaskier simply needed a warm body to vent his frustrations upon, well. It might as well be Geralt’s.

–

“Whew!” Jaskier stepped quickly into the room after Geralt, closing it swiftly behind them and locking the bolt. “Who knew that Lord Austaudi took his wife’s faithlessness so personally? I, for one, am _shocked_.” 

“You were being blatant,” Geralt growled, moving to sit by the fire as he began to wrench off his armor. He had watched Jaskier flirt with Lady Austaudi all night, in that eager, automatic manner of his, which gravitated towards any romantic interest as a wildflower to the sun. Geralt had known there would be trouble when he saw Lord Austaudi dart increasingly darker looks in Jaskier’s direction, especially when the Lady had begun flagrantly stroking his arm. 

It was little surprise when he caught up to Jaskier, to find him being menaced by two thugs hired by Lord Austaudi. They were easy enough to dispatch, and Jaskier had gotten away with only a bruise under his eye.

“Yes, well,” Jaskier said, with a sigh as he unstrapped his lute from his back. “Lesson learned. Never assume a Lady must be the Lord’s _daughter_ rather than his _wife_ just because she’s half his age. Maybe be a third, actually. That man is _decrepit_ ,” Jaskier glanced over at Geralt and had the temerity to grin. “If it wasn’t for the presence of my very stalwart, very frightening Witcher friend, I don’t think I would’ve escaped that encounter without losing a few fingers at least.” 

“Or a different appendage,” Geralt muttered, making Jaskier grimace. 

“Yes, well,” Jaskier said, tipping the wine jug to fill two goblets. “Like I said, lesson learned. You will have no more trouble from me in this quarter,” he grinned brightly as he turned to give Geralt his drink, just the slightest guilt flickering in his expression as he watched Geralt rise from his seat and walk to where he stood.

“Somehow,” Geralt said deliberately, reaching for the goblet, “I don’t believe that.” 

Jaskier sputtered. “Well that’s a bit unfair, isn’t it? A man has _needs_. Myself so, more than most men, perhaps-” 

Geralt downed half the goblet in one swallow, hardly tasting the cheap, sour wine. “And if your needs are slaked,” Geralt asked quietly, “do you think you can stay out of trouble?”

He didn’t even need to scent Jaskier to read his tentative arousal. Like a flower unfurling under the summer sun. His eyes gone liquid dark. His breaths growing short, his heartbeat pounding loud in the space between them. 

Jaskier licked his lips, his glance falling to Geralt’s mouth as Geralt stepped closer. Then up to his eyes. “What are you saying?” Jaskier asked, quickly putting aside his wine. 

Geralt almost reached for Jaskier, but hesitated. His hands had broken a man’s jaw tonight, and he didn’t know if he could be gentle enough for Jaskier, who looked strangely delicate in the candlelight with the bruise darkening his cheek. It would be fine, Geralt thought, if Jaskier took what he needed instead. 

“I know you want me, so come to me,” Geralt said quietly. “But come to me _only_. You might not always be as lucky as you were today,” Geralt tried to make this a stern warning, but it must have come out too softly, for Jaskier’s expression was growing fond. 

“I never thought …” Jaskier swallowed, putting his hands on Geralt’s chest and rubbing upwards, his warm touch making sparks of interest dance under Geralt’s skin. He twisted his fingers in Geralt’s tunic and pulled him close. “Fuck. I’m not going to question this.” 

Geralt allowed himself to be pulled into a kiss, pressing Jaskier back against the table and making the wine goblets wobble dangerously. 

“Bed,” Jaskier choked under Geralt’s mouth, and they stumbled their way in the dark, pulling tunics over their heads and kicking trousers off of ankles as they went. 

Geralt had thought up this proposal as a means to settle Jaskier into a more manageable traveling companion, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself as well. Jaskier was well-built and eager, grinding against Geralt as they finally fell into bed. The bedding would be no hardship, Geralt thought, as he felt Jaskier’s clever fingers slip inside the front of his smalls. But that was just a bonus.

This was first and foremost to keep Jaskier out of trouble.

Then they were entirely unclothed, and Jaskier’s oiled fingers were inside of him, stroking him so deeply, so well that Geralt nearly forgot the vow he sought to wrest from Jaskier’s lips.

“Me, _only_ ,” Geralt panted, as Jaskier positioned himself between his thighs.

“Yes, yes … I promise,” Jaskier gasped as he sank inside. 

–

Contentment radiated off of Jaskier in waves, and Geralt was quietly proud of the success of his plan. 

Jaskier hadn’t changed entirely, of course. He was still obnoxious and stubborn, insistent on following Geralt into certain danger rather than staying safe back at the inn. He still flirted with barmaids and plied everyone he met with that bright, sunny charm that made coins rain at his feet. 

Only now, Geralt knew where Jaskier would be each night. Waiting, sweet-smelling and warm, in Geralt’s bed. To help him bathe and remove his armor and wheedle from him details of his hunt. To play soft ballads by the fire and lose ruefully at gwent. 

To fuck whenever, wherever they could - in camp rolls and inn beds and under the stars. Geralt enjoyed fucking Jaskier, the noises he made, watching pleasure overtake his body and make him shake. He equally enjoyed being fucked by Jaskier, receiving his touches, his sweet words of praise that made Geralt melt shamefully.

Geralt thought that he would simply acquiesce whenever Jaskier felt the urge for it, but more and more, he found himself wishing to reach for Jaskier first, urges that he curbed though he thought that Jaskier would have returned his need with eager interest.

It was easier, Geralt thought, to maintain the balance between them if he allowed Jaskier to come to him. 

Still. Jaskier found ways of wrecking havoc with Geralt’s control. He’d always been a tactile companion (to Geralt’s chagrin), but now it was incessant. Taking Geralt’s hand when they were out in public. Sliding their booted ankles together under the table. Casual kisses on the cheek and lips. Jaskier called him _dear heart_ , and looked upon Geralt with such earnest smiles, and Geralt _knew_ it was just more of Jaskier’s easy habits, but … he couldn’t quite bring himself to push it away. 

“You don’t need to woo me,” Geralt said, perplexed when Jaskier presented him with a leather tie for his hair, which was decorated simply with two yellow beads knotted at the ends. 

“Maybe I don’t _need to_ ,” Jaskier said easily as he finger-combed Geralt’s hair together at his nape. “But I enjoy it, nonetheless.” 

“I’m already in your bed, bard,” Geralt said dryly, “and I’ve no plans of leaving it soon.” 

There was a beat of silence, and Geralt turned to see Jaskier looking strangely flustered. 

“Good,” he said, a pleased flush over his cheeks. “I … that’s good.” 

–

Jaskier had sung the praises (literally) of Wyzima’s brothels often enough that Geralt had every expectation that Jaskier would suspend their agreement upon entering city limits. Since they had the coin, Geralt decided not to argue against it, though he himself was feeling an unusual disinterest in pursuing his own paid company.

He was growing used to laying with Jaskier, Geralt realized. They were a full season into their arrangement, and it had all been surprisingly … easy. Geralt had half-expected Jaskier to grow bored and stray after a few weeks, but he was showing no signs of disinterest. If anything, Geralt now felt the beam of Jaskier’s full attention like the warm summer sun, and was surprised with how much he enjoyed it.

After difficult hunts and long, grueling days on the trail, it became habit to turn to Jaskier, to seek his warmth and the soft of his lips. To find pleasure between his thighs. Geralt had even started to miss his scent when they were apart. 

Perhaps it was all getting too dangerous. 

So when Jaskier told Geralt not to expect him at the inn until later, radiating nervousness and arousal, Geralt had sent him off with an incline of his head. 

The thought of Jaskier returning, smelling of someone else, was … annoying. _But if that’s what it took to keep him_ … Geralt shook his head, in a dark mood as he paid for a room, then immediately stalked out to check jobs posted on the contract board. 

When Jaskier found him, Geralt was rubbing his sword down with specter oil to hunt a wraith haunting the local bell tower. 

“You’ve returned quick,ly” Geralt said, sheathing his sword. When Jaskier walked closer, Geralt could smell notes of Wyzima’s pleasure district, but … only faintly. Jaskier hadn’t been touched by anyone else. Something eased in Geralt’s chest. 

“Apparently just in time, since you’re leaving as soon as we got here,” Jaskier said. He seemed … disappointed? Geralt saw him hide a package behind his back and wondered at what mischief he had gotten himself into this time. 

Still. 

Geralt felt strangely cheerful though he was stepping into what was likely going to be a long, long night. He even had the strangest urge to _kiss_ Jaskier before he left, but hesitated, glancing at Jaskier’s lips until Jaskier groaned and closed the gap between them. He tugged Geralt’s mouth onto his own, slid their tongues together in a filthy, suggestive manner more appropriate to the start of the night’s events rather than a chaste goodbye. Eventually, Geralt had to forcibly put some distance between their bodies, pulling them apart while Jaskier chased his lips with a whine. 

“More later,” Geralt struggled to maintain his breathing, firmly holding the sides of Jaskier’s face. “If you’re good while I’m gone.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said shakily, “for that, I’m going to be _extra_ bad. Just. The worst. You’ll have to chase me down and strap me.” 

Geralt growled and Jaskier kissed him again. “Wait for me,” Gerat said finally, edging towards the door, “stop distracting me.” 

“Never,” Jaskier declared fearlessly, and Geralt thought that that was about right.

–

It was well into the next afternoon before Geralt was able to clear out the wraith business, which involved shaking down the local high priestess of Melitele and no fewer than two false leads about the true location of the remains. Stalking back to the inn on no more than three hours of sleep, grimy with graveyard soil, pockets loose with coin the alderman had been frustratingly reluctant to part with, Geralt was in no fine mood when he shoved open the door to the tavern downstairs. 

To see Jaskier, sprawled prettily on a bench among what was left of the lunch crowd, leaning closely, warmly into conversation with an interested, well-dressed man. 

Geralt’s expression must have been thunderous, because when Jaskier’s companion glanced over, he blanched and quickly mumbled some excuses before skittering away. Jaskier, on the other hand, brightened, straightening in his seat as Geralt drew near. 

“Geralt!” he waved over the barmaid. “You look _beat_. Do you want to eat? Or a bath first? Of course, you owe me a full accounting while the details are fresh!” 

Geralt frowned, his eyes flicking after the trail of Jaskier’s departed companion before he slowly eased himself into the bench across from Jaskier. He didn’t mean to ask, but the question popped out before he could help himself. 

“Were you … with him?” 

“What?” Jaskier asked incredulously, “I … no! No, of course not! He was asking after a bard for the banquet his Lord was throwing. I told him that my availability was contingent upon my companion’s intended travels.” 

“My …” Geralt pressed his lips together, watching the barmaid as she came with two drinks. The implications of what Jaskier just said too heavy for him to sift through with his fatigued mind. Instead, he grabbed a tankard, and drank deeply. 

“Don’t tell me you were _jealous_ ,” Jaskier said teasingly. 

He wasn’t, Geralt told himself, he was simply seeing to it that Jaskier held to his end of the bargain. 

“Well, it’s alright if you are,” Jaskier said, pulling apart a roll of steaming bread, slathering the inside with butter and putting it in front of Geralt. He licked a bit of butter off his thumb, smiling breezily. “Feels like you care, as sad as that sounds. Here, I’ll order a bath,” he stood and wandered away to find the innkeeper. 

Geralt reached for the bread, remembering only after that his hands were covered in dirt, his fingernails black with it. He looked down to see that he had left dark marks on the pristine white roll, and frowned. 

–

When Geralt was bathed and fed and wine-warm before the fire, having napped until they were late into the evening, Jaskier unveiled his secret little errand to the red-light district. 

It was a sleek cord of rope, soft to the touch and dyed a deep, dark red. 

“This won’t hold me,” Geralt said, testing its give by wrapping it around his fists and pulling it taut. 

Jaskier’s eyes seemed to take in that action with great interest. “Yes,” he said, smelling of nervousness and arousal again. “it’s not meant to. It’s meant for, um. Me.” 

Geralt’s eyes flicked to Jaskier’s. They both knew that Geralt hardly needed this to overpower Jaskier. He could manhandle him to the bed and pin him there easily. They’d played at that before. 

This was something … different, perhaps. In a subtle way. 

“Believe it or not, I’ve never felt comfortable having someone tie me down before,” Jaskier said, reaching for the end of the rope, and playing it idly through his fingers. “But I … I think I want to try this with you.” He looked up, smiling tentatively, “if you’re not too perturbed.” 

Geralt shook his head. Whatever Jaskier wanted, he thought. This was a mild enough request in the grand scheme of things. 

They retreated to the bed, where Geralt laid Jaskier on his back. Before Geralt began tying him to the headboard, Jaskier pulled a last, hungry kiss from Geralt’s mouth, wrapping his arms rightly around Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt was slow and deliberate in tying Jaskier to the headboard, sitting back to admire his work when Jaskier’s arms were pulled above his chest and he was flushed to his neck, the red rope looking vibrant against his pale skin. Jaskier’s prick was hard and needy, drooling into the front of his smalls, his thighs spreading eagerly when Geralt moved to kneel between them. 

“Why do you want me to tie you down?” Geralt asked, pressing a soft bite onto the inside of Jaskier’s knee that made his entire body twitch. 

Jaskier shook his head, biting his lip. His mouth opened in a choked gasp when Geralt stroked his cock through his smalls. 

“Tell me,” Geralt said, and slid his hand down Jaskier’s side, over his ticklish, sensitive ribs and the slim curve of his waist. He rubbed, slowly, the cut of Jaskier’s hip, and heard Jaskier bite back a sob. 

“Not for you to _torture_ me all fucking night,” Jaskier complained, whining as Geralt hummed and continued stroking Jaskier’s cock with a grip too light to do anything more than tease. 

It _was_ different, Geralt thought. Usually it was Jaskier who was the aggressor, who pressed kisses onto him and babbled breathless instructions as they fucked. Now it was up to Geralt to take the initiative, to take his fill of Jaskier, as long as he wished to look, as much as he wished to kiss and fondle and lick. 

Geralt felt heat fill his body at the thought. 

“It’s because I trust you, of course,” Jaskier said in a rush, arching up to Geralt’s touch. “And I … I like your hands on me, your eyes on me,” he sighed, gasping as Geralt squeezed a nipple. “I’m ever a slut for attention, as usual.”

He’d give it to him, Geralt decided feverishly. Enough so that Jaskier need never seek it from another again. 

For Jaskier, who so blithely put himself at the mercies of a Witcher, who said he _trusted_ Geralt … 

Geralt took his time learning Jaskier’s body, what made him squirm, what made him shout. He stroked Jaskier and denied him until he was wild with it, and then fingered him roughly until he spilled all over his chest with a shaking cry. 

When Geralt put his hands on Jaskier’s pale thighs, and tongued his softening, over-sensitive cock, he tried to push away thoughts of dirty marks on fresh, white bread. Though he’d long bathed, there was a part of him that still felt too rough for Jaskier’s fine body, for the fragile favor he bestowed upon Geralt like it was his right. 

Geralt could tell Jaskier was aching for a fuck, and regularly would have demanded it by now, but was biting his tongue tonight. Instead he writhed against his bonds, and took only what Geralt had to give him, even though it made him sob. 

“You’re so good for me,” Geralt said roughly, tenderly, and broke his own rule by kissing Jaskier’s panting mouth as he pressed into him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier moaned, locking his ankles around Geralt’s hips as he clenched down, making them both groan. “Oh _fuck_ , I-” 

_That’s right_ , Geralt thought, as he bit vibrant, possessive marks along the curve of Jaskier’s neck. _I’ll give you what you need, so don’t even think of straying._

He fucked Jaskier until his babbling grew incoherent, until his half-hard cock rose valiantly in Geralt’s hand, and he could be roughly fondled into a second climax. Only then, with evidence of Jaskier’s pleasure slick between their stomachs, did Geralt think to take his own pleasure. He pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s, his eyes sliding closed, his thrusts growing wilder as he neared his completion. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier sobbed as Geralt fucked his shuddering climax into his body. “ _I love you_.” 

Geralt felt as if a cold bucket of water had been dumped on his head. Even as his body still shook from pleasure, he pushed himself up on his forearms, looking at Jaskier with an incredulous expression. 

Jaskier’s soft, happy glow dimmed slowly under Geralt’s scrutiny. 

“Did I … say something wrong?” he rasped. He pulled at his wrists, and Geralt turned his attentions to the ropes, making short work of untying them. As soon as Jaskier could pull his wrists free, he pushed himself to a sitting position at the corner of the bed, drawing his legs under him. 

He looked … defensive. Confused. Hurt. 

“That’s not … what this is,” Geralt said, his tongue feeling clumsy in his mouth. His head was spinning, and he was feeling confused about his own words. “I fulfill your needs, and you …” _stay out of trouble_ , he didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The dawning horror on Jaskier’s face said he understood. 

“I … fuck,” Jaskier scrubbed his hand over his face. “Wow, I guess I got it _really_ wrong then. Can you believe that I thought we …” he looked up at Geralt, then tore his gaze away so sharply that Geralt could feel it like a jagged cut across his heart. 

“Jaskier-” Geralt said, feeling strangely terrified at the expression on Jaskier’s face. Geralt reached for him, only to have Jaskier flinch away from his touch. The first time he had ever done so. 

“Was it because you felt _bad_ for me? Fuck, you must have thought I was so pathetic-” Jaskier stood abruptly from the bed, stumbling as he grabbed for his clothes. “I should have known,” he muttered, violently pulling on his pants, “you never … Melitele, it was always me, wasn’t it?”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt said, rougher, as he stood to follow. It was dangerous this late, where was Jaskier even thinking of _going_ -

“ _Don’t_ follow me,” Jaskier clipped. His eyes were bright, his voice breaking as he reached for the door. “ _Please_.” 

Geralt could only swallow as he watched Jaskier disappear into the night. 

–

Jaskier stayed away from their room for three days, until Geralt could not stand it anymore, and grabbed a contract, any contract to get out of the city.

Even so, he kept the room paid up with the faint, stupid hope that he would return to find Jaskier had returned to it.

Returned to him. 

Fuck.

_How could he have fucked this up so badly,_ Geralt wondered. Even the tedious work of eradicating a nest of Misguids that had infested the ruins of a farmhouse north of the city did little to rip Geralt’s thoughts from their endless, looping paths. 

He vacillated between anger and guilt. Anger, because how was he supposed to know? He had given Jaskier what he wanted, hadn’t he, what he was angling for from the start? And they had had a good thing going, if only Jaskier … 

Geralt swayed on the ceiling beam he was straddling, nearly slipping off as a flurry of small, winged things began clawing at him from the darkness. 

_I love you_ , Geralt heard in Jaskier’s voice, saw in his head Jaskier’s horrified expression, the soft affection draining from his eyes as he heard the truth that Geralt had never meant to keep from him.

Or was that just what he told himself.

Geralt braced himself as he made the sign of Aard, blasting the MIsguids into a nearby wall with disturbing, wet noises. It bought Geralt some time as he swung his legs under himself and stood shakily, balanced on the creaking beam, which wobbled dangerously under him as he began running, the shrieking growing to a fever pitch behind him. 

Geralt _knew._ He’d seen Jaskier’s easy, misplaced affections often enough to anticipate what could happen. 

He even, honestly, wanted to know what it could feel like. To have that warmth shining upon his skin, even though he had little enough in return to give. 

He should not have put his hands on Jaskier in the first place, Geralt thought dimly. He’d hurt him. He’d fucked all of it up. His only hope was that Jaskier could fall out of love as easily as he’d fallen in. That they could go back to the way things were, before Geralt thought to make such a short-sighted proposal. 

Back to when Jaskier would disappear for days and nights at a time, to return smelling of sex, of others, or not at all. Because one day, he would find that person who could give him what he truly needed, who would deserve the sun in his smile. 

Only now, Geralt would know. Know the taste of his skin and the heat of his body. And when Jaskier left, if he hadn’t already, he would leave Geralt aching. 

Geralt felt a painful, tearing sensation in his chest, and it wasn’t just because he’d put his foot through a rotted roof tile and plummeted two stories into the dusty basement, narrowly missing impalement on a nearby, jagged beam. 

Coughing, Geralt rolled to his side, groping for a potion he prayed wasn’t already cracked and leaking onto the floorboards. 

Like his sternum. 

Fuck.

–

“-alt! You stupid-” 

Geralt awoke to someone shaking his shoulder, and had to shove out his arm, coughing as the burning in his chest reignited. “ _Stop!_ ” he growled, raising his eyes to the dim light. 

“Fuck!” it was Jaskier, sitting heavily on the rubble-filled floor, scrubbing a hand over his face. “When you … I …. fuck.” He shook his head, and Geralt saw that he’d been crying. “I thought you were dead.” 

Geralt swallowed, unable to parse the pain in his body from the ache he felt in his very bones. Of having Jaskier so near, close enough to touch, if only he had the right. “How did you find me?” he asked roughly, pushing himself up to a seated position with only a minimum of pained hissing. Progress. 

“You left the contract at the room, along with your pack,” Jaskier said flatly, and Geralt could see that Jaskier was wearing the bag that Geralt hadn’t bothered to bring, because he’d considered the contract to be simple enough that he could slip in and out with just his swords and a minimum of gear. 

Classic hubris. Vesemir would have his hide. 

“Which one?” Jaskier muttered, the potion vials making violent clinking noises as he clawed through them. “Can’t see a fucking thing in this light.” 

“Kiss,” Geralt decided to lie back down, because the world was starting to spin again. “Or Swallow.” 

“Whoever named these had a stupid sense of humor,” Jaskier said, and eventually resorted to pressing to vials into Geralt’s hand one by one until Geralt finally shook the right one in the vague direction of his mouth. 

Once the worst of it - the burning, disorienting pain - began to clear, Geralt grew acutely aware of the silence between them. The faint sounds of the night, ringing hollowly in these empty walls. 

“Why did you come for me?” Geralt rasped. 

“Would you rather I hadn’t?” Jaskier shook his head. His fine, velvet clothes were streaked with dust. He was sitting with his legs crossed, under the scant beams of moonlight. “You give me so much shit about being trouble,” Jaskier sighed, toying with the strap of the bag. “I think I’ll hold this against you for a long, long time.” 

Geralt couldn’t stop the throb of his heart from implication that Jaskier would stay long enough to hold this against him. 

Still.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice low. 

“You really want to talk about it?” Jaskier asked archly. “ _Now_?” 

In truth, no. Geralt would rather have his arm chewed off by a wyvern. “… we should,” he said finally, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He decided to try sitting again, and this time, when he didn’t feel like dry heaving, managed to balance his weight on his arm.

“Here, I’ll do both of us a favor,” Jaskier said miserably, his eyes flicking over Geralt’s form. “We’ll pretend all of this … this stupid misunderstanding, my humiliating confession, the, frankly, incredible sex, never happened. I’ve seen the depths of self-delusion we’re both capable of. It’ll be cake.” 

Right, Geralt thought. “That easy, huh?” Geralt asked, a brilliant pain filling his chest at the thought of Jaskier turning his eyes on another, though it was the best for them both. 

“Yeah, you know me,” Jaskier said, though his tone was tired. “Fickle, fickle, fickle. Can’t keep it in my pants for all the table scraps I’m begging.” He stood, brushing the dust from his knees, and Geralt felt a sudden terror that Jaskier would just walk away and _leave_ him here, and he’d never see him again.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt said, and some of the urgency in his tone must have reached Jaskier, because he turned back in confusion.

“I’m going to get Roach,” he clarified, “bring her to the door. I appreciate your faith in my abilities, Geralt, but I’m not going to be able to support you all the way back to town.” 

“But after,” Geralt said, because he was hurting, because he was woozy from blood loss and hardly in his right mind. Because he’d been thinking about kissing Jaskier for three damned days. “Will you stay?” Geralt asked, his voice hoarse.

Jaskier released a low breath. “That’s unfair,” he said tightly. “You know how much it took … how long-” he shook his head abruptly. “You’re the cause of my bad habits, you know,” he said thinly. “Chasing after nothings, just to forget about the _fucking_ unobtainable Witcher waiting in my room.” 

“I didn’t know,” Geralt grunted in pain as he rolled to the side, pushing laboriously to a standing position even as Jaskier squawked at him to _stay down._ “You have to believe me, I didn’t.”

Jaskier shook his head, sliding under Geralt’s arm. And suddenly he was so near, so warm, his hair smelling faintly of lavender bathwater and summer grass. Geralt just managed to prevent himself from burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, but it was a near thing. 

“Why do you even want me to stay?” Jaskier asked sadly. 

Because he was selfish. Because he was weak and desperate. Because he wanted as much of Jaskier as he could get, for however as long he could have it. 

Geralt didn’t realize he’d said the last part aloud until they broke into the cold night air, and Jaskier was looking at him in the moonlight, his eyes wide and shocked, his mouth fallen open. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said slowly, “you know what regular people call that … right?” 

_Love?_ Geralt thought, staring at Jaskier’s bright blue eyes, the dark of his lashes. He was so close, just under Geralt’s arm, such a beautiful temptation. Everything that Geralt’s ever wanted. Nothing he ever thought he could keep. 

Fuck it. 

Geralt pulled Jaskier into a clumsy, desperate kiss, which nearly dragged the both of them into the dirt. Jaskier kept trying to talk through it, calling Geralt a stupid prick even as he melted into his arms. 

For the first time, Geralt thought, he had found something that he wanted to hang onto with both hands. 

And he was never going to let it go. 

–

Before he next left for a hunt, Geralt gave Jaskier a hard, brief kiss on the lips that left him dazed. 

“Don’t get into trouble,” Geralt said, little able to stop the fondness from breaking through his voice. “Wait for me.” 

“I promise nothing for the first,” Jaskier said, fisting the front of Geralt’s shirt and pulling him down for another kiss. “But for the second … always. If you think you can make it worth my while.” 

Geralt hummed, sinking into Jaskier’s embrace as easy as anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://greyduckgreygoose.tumblr.com/tagged/myfic)


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